


Souvenir

by saucytuggles



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Flash Fic, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Seashells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucytuggles/pseuds/saucytuggles
Summary: Takes place after Tora's memory in Episode 5. After Vincent left child Tora locked up when he took his family on vacation, what happened when the Balthumans returned?
Relationships: Quincey Balthuman & Tora
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40
Collections: Tiger Bites





	Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic is part of the Tiger Bites collection. I don't think AO3 lets you subscribe to a collection, darn it, but here's the link:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tiger_Bites
> 
> The purpose of the collection is to do tiny, frequent MPL/AB fics to give everybody little shots of Narin to get us through the post-first season MPL hiatus. (See "profile" on the Tiger Bites page.) Also anyone can submit tiny fics to Tiger Bites, so feel free to add one!

Tiger Bites

Souvenir

  
A Midnight Poppy Land Tiny Fic by Saucy Tuggles

Tora had never seen Quincey so excited. 

“The waves were so tall and they weren’t even cold! I wish you could have come, Tora. They had juice drinks with swirly straws and people down the beach had umbrellas but Dad had a whole _tent_ right on the beach, and nobody else could even come to our part of the beach!” 

Quincey’s face, pink with sunburn, suddenly fell. “The only sad thing was that I didn’t have anyone to play with. Next time you _have_ to come, okay?” Quincey found a smile. “Promise me you’ll come next time.”

Tora remembered the Balthumans’ arrival earlier in the day. Laying on cold concrete, numb, he heard the cars roll up, the muffled voices, the thud of the car doors. Most of the sounds had receded, but one sound, _tap, tap, tap, tap_ , had become clearer and clearer, coming straight to him. Tora sat up.

Vincent Balthuman’s shadow fell across the metal slats. He was tan, relaxed, smiling. 

“Well, son, have you thought about your position here?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Look me in the eye, Tora boy. No more escaping?” 

Tora looked up at him, dry eyed. “No, sir.” 

“Good boy. Now go get cleaned up before you see Quinceton. I can smell you from here.” Mr. Balthuman had opened the grate and turned away. 

Fresh from the shower, Tora’s wet hair flopped over his forehead. Quincey stood before him, waiting. 

“Please, Tora! Please come next time. We’ll have so much fun!”

Tora walked like an old man, heavy and stiff, to Quincey’s bed. He sat. 

“What it was like?” he asked.

“I brought things back so you could see,” Quincey started digging through the bags that his maid had not yet put up. “The sea was so _blue,_ bluer than the sky even. It was windy and there were seagulls and they rode on the air like it was a rollercoaster. And the waves never stopped, just back and forth, there were clams in the sand and you could see the bubbles. And there were some rocks down the beach with water in them and when the tide was out there were so many little animals in there!” 

He found a plastic bin and pulled the lid off, dropping something in Tora’s hand. 

“What’s this?” Tora said.

“It’s a bubble made by a seaweed.” Quincey gushed over the gritty dark green fragment. “Some seaweeds have air bubbles and it lifts them up so they can get sun. I thought you’d think it was cool.” 

“It’s okay,” Tora said. 

“Well I know you’re going to love _these_ …” Quincey held a fist up dramatically. Tora slowly stretched his hand out. A stream of treasures dropped into his palm with a quiet clatter. 

“Seashells,” Quincey breathed. “Cause you couldn’t come, I found every one I could for you.” 

Tora stirred them with his finger. Their shapes were quietly powerful. Three looked like fans, arcing and pleated in gently glowing colors, orange, butter yellow, pure white. He saw tiny unicorn horns, spiraling and graceful, and one that folded over on itself, making a little glossy mouth. There were fat round bumbles and a perfect cone which seemed to be painted in an ancient language. Delicate spikes sprang from a rippling crescent, reaching up at him like twisted fingers. 

He picked up the last one that looked like a little crown, dark brown and coiling, with faded white points. It was warm in his hand. It smelled like salt and wind. It was so thin, so light. Tora knew he could crush it, crush any of them under his heel, but he had a feeling...even if he did they wouldn’t be lost. If they were broken, the shapes they made in his hand would repeat in the clouds, in the trunks of trees, in water spiraling down the drain. They were little doors, he saw, doors that someday he might walk through, and find himself far away from here. 

His hand curled around the shells, he looked at Quincey. 

“These are for me?” 

Quincey nodded. Tora hadn't smiled in a long time. 

“Thanks, Quince.”


End file.
